Smitten
by HopeCoppice
Summary: Bertrand had seen portraits, of course. B/V one-sided ? slash. One-shot for now but I do intend to continue at some point.
1. Bertrand

**Just a little thing which I'll probably continue at some point in the distant future because I love these characters, but for now it's just this. I hope you enjoy it.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Young Dracula.**

Bertrand had seen paintings of the alleged Chosen One, of course.

Count Dracula had been circulating them around the globe for some months, always with ludicrously unlikely backgrounds intended to suggest that they were in hiding in Brazil, or China, or Russia, or Peru. So of course Bertrand had noticed that the boy was good-looking. That was good; vampires could be shallow and an ugly Chosen One would have to fight twice as hard to keep his place. At seventeen, however, Vladimir Dracula was already proving that he had inherited the Dracula looks – assuming of course that the portraits hadn't been doctored in any way.

Somehow, though, Bertrand had got it into his head that Vlad must do well when represented in oil on canvas. He'd thought there was some flattery involved in the hand of the artist, or at least complete accuracy. Bertrand had often observed that some vampires translated well into paintings, while others lost much of their beauty when captured as an image. He had assumed that Vlad was one of the former.

He was wrong.

It hadn't been gradual, the realisation that he had fallen in love with the Chosen One – the true Chosen One, as he now knew. He had shared one brief, intense conversation with the boy, and then as he had watched Vlad walk back upstairs to talk to his family, it had hit him like a cannonball from nowhere. He had almost literally staggered backwards, before realising how ridiculous he was being. But Vlad…

Vlad had been even more attractive – more _beautiful_ – in real life than in those foolish paintings, paintings which Bertrand now realised had never done him justice. He'd known, of course, that this Vladimir Dracula would be handsome. What nobody had warned him, however, was that he was also passionate, genuine, and – he would later discover- utterly charming. No prophecy had told of his generous nature or winning sense of humour, no Councillor had warned him that he would be completely disarmed by Vlad's thoughtful frown or knocked backwards by the brilliance of his smile.

Yet Bertrand was there to do a job, and as much as he might wish that they had met in different circumstances – really any other circumstances, anything that didn't so completely tie his hands – there was no way of changing that. It wasn't even as if it was only his own foolish unlife he was risking – the Council's reputation would be dragged through the mud if his gaze so much as lingered too long on Vlad. No, he had to remain professional.

No matter how much it hurt.


	2. Vlad

**I told you there'd be more.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Young Dracula. If I did, every episode would be at least three days late. And we wouldn't want that, now.**

There was nothing Vlad could do, he reasoned.

Bertrand had been nothing like he'd expected. When his father had started talking about tutors, he'd expected that he'd eventually settle for someone very old, and very dull. What he'd got was neither of those things. What was four hundred years to a vampire who would live forever?

And he hadn't been dull; there hadn't been a dull moment since Bertrand had arrived. And with every conversation, every half-apology just for being there that slipped from Bertrand's lips, Vlad found himself warming to the other man a little more. They had quite a lot in common, if you stripped away the obvious differences. They got along well. It was a slow process, but eventually Vlad realised there was no sense denying the truth any more.

He wanted to be closer to Bertrand. Better friends, perhaps, but… no, he wanted to be more than that. Even if it was something he only admitted to himself in the privacy of his own coffin. But – and he always had to remind himself of this, before he could leap up and track his tutor down – he couldn't do anything about it.

Bertrand was here to do a job, and any attention he paid Vlad was only part of that. The smiles, the laughter, the occasional playful jibe when he thought nobody would notice… they were all just part of the service, he was sure. He'd never really had a tutor for this long before, but he was sure that was how it was.

The worst thing was knowing that while he _couldn't_ do anything, he was also the only one who _should_ have been able to. After all, Bertrand could hardly approach the Chosen One – _thank you for allowing me into your house, your unlife, the honour of your service, now please let me into your coffin as well _– even in the unlikely event that he wanted to. Vlad was nothing special, he knew, but he also knew that the rest of the world – including Bertrand – disagreed with that assessment.

It didn't matter. To Bertrand, he was part and parcel of the job, and nothing more. No doubt he'd even managed to disappoint the tutor, with his reluctance to learn anything, let alone be the Chosen One the vampire world expected. No, there was nothing he could do.

No matter how much it hurt.


	3. Bertrand II

**Yes, another part of this. There's another Vlad chapter planned too, so. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

It was difficult, working with Vlad and keeping his feelings concealed.

Bertrand was a master of remaining aloof, of course – he hadn't been easy to read before he was turned and four centuries of practice had ensured that he would always be more than capable of concealing any emotion he chose to. His face would not betray him as he watched Vlad struggle with his assignments, nor would his voice as he quizzed him on the best way to immobilise an enemy, the proper way to sign a treaty, the way he would rule the vampire race.

Still, it didn't mean it was easy, always being in such close contact with the Chosen One. Bertrand could reach out and touch him if he wanted to, could seek him out and tell him everything. If he let his tight control on himself slip for even a moment, it would be the work of seconds to ask him to go for a drink, or invite him to the new 16-25s club Vlad had been casting sideways glances at flyers for when he thought no-one saw him.

Bertrand found himself pushing harder and harder for Vlad to open the Praedictum Impaver, desperate to get his work done and get out of Garside, away from temptation. It wasn't fair; half of the vampire world had a crush on the Chosen One based purely on looks or power and they were all free to chase him any way they wanted. Bertrand, who'd actually _met_ him, who'd discovered all the most endearing things about the boy in mere hours, could do no such thing, and yet he was the one for whom it would only take one brief lapse in concentration, one tiny failure of willpower to get the words he had to fight not to say to their intended recipient.

He was in too deep, he knew, and he had to get this done and leave before he embarrassed them both.

Then the training had finally paid off – well, alright, it had mostly been chance that Vlad's reflection had taken over and opened the Book – and for a split second Bertrand had thought he was free, a bittersweet relief crashing over him as he realised there was no reason for Vlad to keep him around, no reason for Bertrand to stay… he could escape this constant torment, the perpetual struggle against his own desires.

But the Book was blank, and Vlad needed him still. _Just a little longer_, he told himself, _you just have to be strong for a little longer_.

No matter how much it hurt.


	4. Vlad II

**Really short, but here's another bit. Vlad's harder for me to write in this one for some reason.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine *yawn*.**

He'd done his best, really he had.

When he'd realised how frustrated Bertrand was becoming – Vlad failing to do his job was, after all, making it impossible for Bertrand to complete _his_ – he'd made it his sole focus to open the Book. Even when his evil reflection took over, the uppermost thing in its mind seemed to be to open the Book and let Bertrand get on with his unlife. He didn't want Bertrand to leave, but it seemed increasingly likely that his tutor had other work to do once the Book was open, and it was only fair to let him go and attend to that as soon as possible.

Instead, when he found the pages blank – he'd failed again, and Bertrand would be stuck with him for a little longer – it was Vlad who had to leave. When he came back, having got his head together, he was determined that Bertrand shouldn't have to stay a moment longer than he had to. This could, and would, be finished quickly; he would fill in the book somehow, and let Bertrand go.

No matter how much it hurt.


	5. Bertrand III

**Another little bit of longing. Enjoy. Eventually, who knows, this story might even go somewhere!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

Vlad was busy, Bertrand had to remind himself constantly. It wasn't that the boy was avoiding him, it was just that he had a lot to do. Their scheduled training sessions were further apart now and he had to stay out of the way.

He'd tried sticking to Vlad like glue when he'd first returned to school, and it had lasted no time at all before both he and the Count realised he was far too close, far too consistently. Vlad had been busy – or avoiding him, because after all Bertrand _had_ threatened Ingrid – ever since, and the few times they'd spoken had been about nothing but the most essential of information related to their work.

And Vlad _was_ working now, seemed to be taking things seriously at last. He still wasn't making any big steps towards becoming Grand High Vampire, but that was going to happen anyway at some point whether he wanted to or not. But he had finally started to try in earnest to fill in the words in the book, to gain its power. Besides which – and he was sure Vlad would be surprised if he knew Bertrand took it into consideration – the boy needed some downtime, time to mess about with Erin and be a teenager.

Erin was another problem, of course – he wasn't really sure if there was anything between her and the Chosen One, and there was no way he could ask without being perceived as a threat, or worse, Vlad seeing his true motives for asking. No, he might never know what was going on there, but as he had to keep reminding himself, it was irrelevant to his professional life whether Vlad had a girlfriend or not. And his professional life had to be what came first. He would just have to contain his curiosity and give Vlad his space, keep his distance.

No matter how much it hurt.


	6. Vlad III

**And some more for you! I hope you like it, despite the lack of actual progression.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Young Dracula, thank gods. Can you imagine if they spent 6 episodes doing nothing?  
**

Sometimes Vlad thought there were good signs.

When he'd returned from his time away, Bertrand had stuck to him like glue for hours, standing close enough to make the hairs on the back of Vlad's neck stand on end – but in a good way. That hadn't lasted long. He'd noticed how friendly Bertrand was with him compared to what he would usually expect, of course, but he was the Chosen One and Bertrand's purpose in unlife was to serve him. He was bound to treat him differently to everyone else in the household, to be more friendly and open with him.

Still, Bertrand seemed to find his way to Vlad's side more often than he needed to, even after the unfortunate incident where he'd completely messed up. With hindsight, he thought he could probably detect his father's hand in that little fiasco – after all, Bertrand didn't seem to hate Ingrid that much, and the Count certainly did. Still, Bertrand was popping up more often than he needed to, and chatting, and seemed vaguely annoyed with himself whenever he did.

Vlad was sure that it was just a matter of keeping him on side, or checking up on him. Bertrand probably just wanted to make sure that he was constantly reminded of his tutor, and therefore of his need to train independently. He began making an effort to reassure Bertrand that his to-do list was not being forgotten, that he was doing whatever his tutor had asked of him that day, before Bertrand could waste too much of his time working his way around to asking. It seemed he was right about Bertrand's intentions, because the older vampire would always simply nod, make some throwaway comment about the weather, and disappear again.

He knew there was nothing more to it; Bertrand just wanted to make sure he was working on filling in the Book. Soon, he would manage it and Bertrand would leave. Soon, he would have to actually make a serious attempt. But not yet. For now, he had to stop reading too much into Bertrand's every friendly enquiry and get on with his everyday life; school, training, even occasionally an hour or two of sleep. He had to continue all those activities that took up his time but didn't involve Bertrand.

No matter how much it hurt.


	7. Bertrand IV

**Another little Smitten bit. A smit? A smit. Have a smit. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything also the bulk of this was written at like 2am so it's probably awful and this is being posted at like 4am which is why the disclaimer is definitely awesome (EDIT: I meant awful! See my point) did I mention I don't own anything? Good, it still works then.**

He'd tried to be angry. He really had.

Vlad had made it so easy, too – pushing aside Bertrand's concerns, too busy with his own personal life and Erin, who Bertrand still wasn't sure if the Chosen One was dating or not. It hadn't taken much effort to work himself up to a level of feeling unappreciated that lent itself to lashing out.

Getting angry and lashing out at Vlad, though, had only led to Vlad being disappointed in him, and he hated the way it felt to have Vlad ignore him as he skilfully negotiated treaties between everyone else in the room. Bertrand had helped him, hadn't he, in the end? And he'd been loyal before. Could one burst of annoyance really destroy everything?

He assured Vlad that he was loyal once more, that he had acted foolishly and impulsively and that it would never happen again. He couldn't _hate_ Vlad, no matter how hard he tried. Then again, he certainly couldn't continue to love him. But he did.

No matter how much it hurt.


	8. Vlad IV

**Another little Vlad smit for you. Yaaay. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Ownership of Young Dracula and/or its characters has not been conferred upon me since five minutes ago when I posted the last chapter. So no, still not mine.**

Vlad didn't mean to keep letting Bertrand down.

He knew he should have fixed the Book by now, filled in its pages, but there'd been so much going on with trying to learn everything he needed to know to be Grand High Vampire properly, and Erin, and Ingrid, and everything that was going on. Bertrand… everything about what Bertrand was coaching him in was new, and with the confusing feelings on top of that it was easier to focus on something else. Anything else. _Everything_ else.

So he'd pushed Bertrand aside, waved off his concerns about slayers as something that could be dealt with later, forgetting that Bertrand had seen slayings before, knew the difference just a few nights could make. Hadn't Bertrand watched entire clans crumble before him? He'd let it happen; he'd _made_ it happen. If he was that determined that it needed to be stopped, anxious enough to actually bring his concern to Vlad instead of leaving him to pick his own battles, it must be important. Yet he'd shrugged it off, and Bertrand had let him, as usual.

He was almost relieved when Bertrand's anger flared – this careful dance around each other's feelings was doing them no good. Since he couldn't confess the way _he_ felt, it was almost reassuring to know that Bertrand was furious with him. It made things safer somehow, even with an insane ancient vampire on the loose. When things were finally resolved, he kept his tutor at arm's length, afraid he wouldn't be able to resist temptation. He had to keep his distance.

No matter how much it hurt.


	9. Bertrand V

**Self are you drunk no it's just 4am and you've spent all night writing smits, and deciding to call them smits. Probably you should not post this until tomorrow. Not that it'll make much difference 'cos you're totally gonna forget this is on here and post it like this at normal o'clock and people will think you're even weirder.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Bertrand couldn't read Vlad like he could read other people.

Perhaps it was because he was too emotionally invested in the boy; more likely it was because the boy had had the best possible teachers in lying, manipulation, and presenting the face he needed people to see. At any rate, he never knew what Vlad was thinking, what was real and what was just an elaborate façade.

When Vlad forgot to be distant, when he became animated and charming and warm again, was that real? Was it the real Vlad peeking through, or was it just the Vlad he thought would get the best response from his tutor? When he seemed flattered that Bertrand had understood something the rest of the world hadn't yet grasped about him, when he nodded and laughed at an inconsequential comment Bertrand had thrown out there, when he was just so perfect and open and honest that it almost hurt Bertrand to look at him… how could he be sure that wasn't an act?

Because really, when it came down to it, Vlad's entire position as Chosen One, as future Grand High Vampire, was all about pretending. Pretending to be what each and every vampire wanted from a ruler, even though there was no possible way anyone could be all of those things at once. Pretending to be someone completely different, when the occasion called for it. Bertrand had to admit that there was a good chance everything he'd thought was a sign of friendship from the younger vampire was a lie.

No matter how much it hurt.


	10. Vlad V

**So we're off to a good start here (still 4am by the way, hello future-people!) as I have just tried to label this document with the same label I just labelled the last one with. Smooooth. Hmm, I wonder if people will start reviewing my author's notes instead of the smits? I hope they review the smits as well, I totally stayed up all night writing them. Also I'm totally gonna have to come back and edit once I realise these are still on here because they kind of ruin the emotional integrity of the oh shut up woman and let the lovely people read about angst.**

**...And then I also tried to put the previous installment in the box. It's like I'm trying to clone the thing I just posted. OK shutting up now.**

**Disclaimer: I am totally not gonna wake up til like teatime tomorrow. And I don't own Young Dracula. Maybe by then I will? But I wouldn't count on it. Sadface.**

Vlad didn't know much about Bertrand, really, when it came down to it.

Oh, he knew how he took his blood, and he had a vague idea of some of his hobbies – hitting the punchbag with a stick was a hobby, right? He knew that there were some things Bertrand felt strongly about – apparently, slayings were on that list – and that he could be a little intense. He knew the tells that told the careful observer that the tutor was feeling threatened or nervous; he knew that he could have a wicked sense of humour; he knew that sometimes he put on a show of being less confident than he was, and that sometimes he felt insecure and pretended it was an act.

But when it came down to it, Vlad had to admit, he knew far less about Bertrand than Bertrand did about him. Part of him was afraid to find out more, because the older vampire had made allusions to things in his past, and perhaps even his present, that Vlad really didn't care to dwell on. Besides, while there were such huge gaps in his knowledge, his brain could fill in those gaps with assumptions that his tutor had secret annoying habits, flaws he couldn't possibly forgive. He could pretend that there was some way Bertrand could stop making him feel this way.

There was so much about his tutor that he had still to discover, so much he would never understand, even if he had centuries to think about it. He would never find out everything there was to know about Bertrand.

No matter how much it hurt.


End file.
